


Equal Vows

by lesyeuxverts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Forced Bonding, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxverts/pseuds/lesyeuxverts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry learns to act without Dumbledore's guidance. Draco is lost without Snape, and will do anything to get his mentor back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equal Vows

**Author's Note:**

> Written originally for hd_worldcup, Team Epilogue, prompt: The Hermit

No one had ever told Harry about this. The sun was hot on his shoulders and Draco Malfoy was sprawled in the dirt at his feet, and he'd never been prepared for this situation. Hogwarts, a year on the run, the war — none of it helped him here.

"You what?"

Jagged locks of Malfoy's hair fell around his face — it hung short and uneven, almost as though it had been hacked off with a knife. He pushed it away from his face and looked straight at Harry, offering him a sock. "Take it."

"What?"

"I swear fealty to you, and you must take my token. Honestly, Potter, could you be any more dense?"

"It's a dirty sock, Malfoy. I don't know what filth you've contaminated it with, and I'm not touching it." Harry took a step back, and put up a shield charm when Malfoy lunged at him.

The charm wavered, held for the space of two breaths, and then broke. Malfoy stumbled into Harry, his head hitting Harry's shoulder and his arms flailing for balance. The sock touched Harry's forearm, and a flash of light burst around them.

Harry blinked away the dazzling green after-images, and Malfoy sagged against him. Harry's arms went around him, supporting him — as though his body moved without his will, he did it without thinking about it and without wanting to do it.

He held the sock, catching it before it fell to the ground. The fabric was soft and worn, not as dirty as he had imagined, and still warm from Malfoy's touch. Harry took a deep breath and shoved Malfoy away.

"What the fuck is happening here?"

Malfoy had landed in the dirt, but he gave Harry a beatific smile and made no move to rise to his feet. "It's the fealty oath superceding the life debt I owe you," he said.

He paused for a moment before saying, " _Master,_ " with his nose tilted in the air. Even with his robes rumpled and smeared with dirt, even with his jagged, uneven haircut, Malfoy managed to look elegant when he gave Harry a mocking half-bow.

Harry's arm itched where the sock had touched his skin, but he did not move to scratch it. He dropped the sock and gripped his wand and stared at Malfoy, watching him warily.

Malfoy rose to his knees at last, grabbing the hem of Harry's robe and pressing it to his lips. He grimaced and held the fabric at arm's length. "Disgusting," he said. "I could recommend a better tailor, but cleanliness would be appreciated in the future. You wouldn't have bothered to learn anything about ancient wizarding traditions, would you? The Chosen One is above rules and traditions and strictures ... Well, you can ask Granger to explain it to you, but there are no loopholes. I've sworn fealty to you, and that's all there is to it."

"Malfoy, are you mad?"

"Not in the slightest." He gave Harry another mocking bow and turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he said, "With your permission, _Master_."

———-

Nothing marred the stillness of Grimmauld Place until Malfoy broke through the wards. Harry fumbled for his wand, almost dropping it when he felt the wards chime like change bells, letting Malfoy pass.

It was Malfoy — Harry hadn't seen him in three days, but the vow was there, a constant pressure against his skin, a constant beat that echoed with his heart. Harry had felt his presence against the wards and he felt him go through the door, slipping into the house.

Like pins and needles pricking his skin, all the dust in the room blew past him. It hurt, and Harry rubbed his forearms. The candles flickered and the fire in the hearth crackled, and at last, his skin stinging and his spine aching, Harry rose to go to the door.

Malfoy was in the entry, pinned in place by the portrait and the risen ghost of Dumbledore. The portrait was silent for once, but the dust-figure stretched out its arms, accusing him.

He was pale, a sheen of sweet on his forehead. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Harry. The tongue-tying curse had caught him and he glared at Harry, but he could not speak.

"Come in." Harry grabbed his arm, pulling him into the house and breaking the hex. Malfoy hesitated, using all of his weight to resist Harry's momentum. He stared at the swirling dust and the haggard face of Dumbledore. "I don't —"

"He didn't do it," Harry told the specter of Dumbledore. "He didn't kill you."

_"There was no other way — there was nothing stronger than love."_

Dumbledore's words still echoed with Harry. A mother's love for her son — Narcissa had saved Draco when she forced Snape to take that Vow. Because his mother had loved him, Draco hadn't been forced to kill Dumbledore, and Harry told the specter the truth.

The figure collapsed, and Harry pulled Malfoy through the falling dust and into the library. Dust and more dust — it fell off of Malfoy in waves as he moved, uneven concentric circles forming around him as he stopped, digging his heels in and glaring at Harry.

"Look at this, _Master_ ," he said, waving his hand at Harry and nearly flicking him on the nose. "Dust and battered old books, a hovel barely fit for a house-elf ... and you're _living_ here?"

"Are you offering to clean it for me?" Harry's voice was sharp and he felt a prickle on his forearm. Magic rushed through the room like a whirlwind, prickling through his veins. His nerves tingled, and he felt a warm, vivid awareness of Malfoy's nearness.

Draco fell to his knees in front of Harry in a graceless tumble. His head smacked against Harry's thigh, and he gripped Harry's calves. "You have my oath of fealty, _Master_."

His lip curled as he stared up at Harry, his grey eyes blinking and watery in the dim light. "Bring Severus Snape back to life, and I will do anything in your service."

He stood again, rolling down the cuffs of his sleeves — Harry caught a glimpse of sharp, bony wrists and pale skin. "I'll even clean this ... place."

"You don't have to do that," Harry said. "I don't know what you think you're doing with the oath of fealty, but stop it. You don't have to do anything." He pushed past Malfoy and went to stand by the long window. If he slipped through the stiff, dusty curtains and stood there, caught between worlds and looking out into the tangled and overgrown courtyard — if he pretended that Malfoy wasn't there — it didn't help. Harry still felt him there, a warm and vibrant presence tingling along his nerves, and then Malfoy coughed, intruding on Harry's world.

He was there — he stood behind Harry, reaching out to prod the velvet curtain with his forefinger. "This is truly vile," he said.

Harry looked at him — Malfoy, with a smudge of dust on his high cheekbone, with a familiar sneer on his lips — and turned away. Hurrying up the stairs, he locked himself in Sirius's old bedroom and sat there in the half-light, staring at the posters on the wall. He strained his ears in the silence, trying not to listen for the sounds of Malfoy's movements.

———-

When Ron and Hermione arrived, they fought through the spells designed for Snape only to be stopped by Malfoy. Harry heard them arguing, and he lay sprawled on the bed, his cheek pressed to the pillow, listening to them through the walls.

He had sent them an owl. He hadn't been able to tell them much, but it was enough to bring them away from the bustle and toil of rebuilding Hogwarts. It was enough to bring them away from the snap-flash of overeager reporters and the solemn, endless liturgy of the funerals. In spite of everything that Harry had done, it had not been enough ... it was not enough to rebuild the school and not enough to heal the dead. It was more than he could face.

There were so many dead. Remus and Tonks had left Teddy behind — Harry couldn't bear to see him yet, with his father's face and his mother's hair. He had seen Remus in the end, he had had a chance to say goodbye, and even that was not enough.

Remus and Tonks had left Teddy, Fred had left George, Colin had left Dennis. Harry had died and seen his family again, and he had left them and lived again.

Sirius had lain in this bed, had probably pressed the pillows over his ears to drown out his mother's voice. Harry wanted to do the same, but instead he rose, toeing on his shoes, and made his way downstairs.

"Of course I know he's here," he said, breaking into the argument. "Don't give me any grief over it — I hadn't any choice in the matter. He did something with a sock and bound himself to me."

Malfoy nodded, his pale hair swinging around his face. "P-Pot- _Master_ ," he said, pausing to glare at Harry, "is my liege lord now. I've pledged my life debt to him."

Harry pushed past the three of them, taking down the kettle and measuring out tea leaves into the pot. The faint, dusty smell of the dried leaves tickled his nose, and he sneezed, scattering leaves on the counter. "Just — just tell me how to get out of it, Hermione."

"Life debts are binding magic," Hermione said. "I don't think there's anything —"

She shook her head, putting her hand on his shoulder, and he banged the kettle onto the range, sloshing water over his hands. His skin itched when he stood too far from Malfoy — it crawled, prickling over him as though he had forgotten something, as though he were missing something. He had Malfoy's vow in place of a life debt.

Ron put his wand to Malfoy's throat. "If this is a sneaky Slytherin plan to get close to Harry in order to hurt him, then you'd better give up right now, Malfoy. You'll never —"

"Or else what?" Malfoy made no move to defend himself, but he straightened his shoulders and stared straight at Ron. "What will you do to me, Weasley? Will you strike down an unarmed man? Will you break every custom surrounding the oath of fealty? How low will you stoop, in order to hurt me?"

Ron's wand wavered, but he kept it leveled at Malfoy. "You may be protected by custom, but if you do anything at all to hurt Harry ... I'll Transfigure you into a fur coat and leave you for the moths, Ferret."

"Stop it." Hermione put her hand on Ron's shoulder, pulling him away, and Harry went to Malfoy. He banged his hip against the stove and swallowed his curses, reaching out toward Malfoy. There was nothing that he could say and there was nothing that he could do to make this right again.

He touched Malfoy's arm, his fingers brushing Malfoy's bare skin. Harry shivered at the touch, and Malfoy drew back. "Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"Fine." Malfoy didn't look at him.

"I'm sorry about Ron," Harry said, "but he doesn't —"

"I'm sorry that your friends are louts, _Master._ "

Harry hesitated, leaning forward when Malfoy scowled, but in the end, he didn't reach to touch Malfoy again.

This was nothing like what Dumbledore would have done — he would have found a way around the vow — but this was all that Harry could do. He had no way to cancel out ancient magic, and he had no defense against the ancient traditions that Draco invoked. Ancient magic may have saved Harry's life, but now it was strong enough to bind him.

Malfoy stared at him, the curl of his lip suggesting that in spite of the title, he had no respect for Harry. He might bow and fetch tea and promise that the full force of the unfulfilled vow would descend upon Harry if he failed to resurrect Snape, but that was all that there was to it. All of the years they had spent at Hogwarts, everything that had passed between them, it was all rolled into the vitriol and sarcasm that Malfoy applied to the word _Master._

Dumbledore would have done the right thing. He would have found a way to set Malfoy free, to give him his own choices and his own life again, but Harry was not Dumbledore. Dumbledore was dead.

———-

Malfoy had brought Harry to the graveyard, and all of Harry's protests had died unspoken on the way. The tight squeezing sensation he felt as they went through the wards that kept Grimmauld Place safe, the pop of Malfoy's house-elf magic as he brought them to the graveyard, the great emptiness of the sky arching above them — it was too much. There was a strange tightness in his throat, and he balled his hands into fists, following Malfoy.

"You'd better explain this," he said. "I'm not — Snape, he didn't deserve —"

"Shut up, _Master_ ," Malfoy said. "You don't know what he deserved."

It was not the long liturgy of the funerals that Harry attended, all of the services and memorials he had gone to before it became too much. There was no sickly incense, there were no flowers and no funeral hymns. No prayers were said.

Malfoy knelt at Harry's side, and they watched the black coffin lowered into the ground. When it was done, Malfoy was the first to come forward, the first to toss a handful of earth onto the lid of the coffin.

The earth landed, falling onto the coffin with a hollow, muffled echo like a heartbeat. Malfoy's fingers were clenched in Harry's sleeve, and he pulled Harry back from the grave.

"Don't say anything." Malfoy's face was pale and his lips were set. He didn't look at Harry. He knelt, his forehead pressed against Harry's shiny black leather shoes, and he gripped Harry's ankles. "Please," he said. "Snape deserves to live. You're the only one —"

Harry had hated Snape, and Snape had died for him. Snape had done everything — for Dumbledore, for Harry's mother and for him.

Harry stepped away from him, bumping into the low stone fence that ringed the cemetery. His fingers scrabbled and caught on a rough stone, buried in the slick moss and green weeds that grew over the wall. "Malfoy —"

"Don't say anything. Don't talk about things that you don't understand. Snape deserves to live, to have a life after the war, and you're the only one who can give it to him. P-Pot- _Master_ , please," Malfoy said, spitting out the words as if they were acid in his mouth.

Harry was there, at Snape's grave, at Malfoy's side. He should have been with Teddy, he should have been at Remus's grave — he should have been—

Snape should have been buried months ago. He should have been honored. Harry should have insisted on it, and instead he had holed up in Grimmauld Place, hiding from the world. Coming out now, there was nothing that he could do for Snape — this late burial was small tribute to his sacrifices.

Malfoy took a stumbling step toward Harry and latched onto the sleeve of his robe. He pressed it to his face, hiding the sharp lines around his eyes and mouth.

"Bring him back to me."

Only Dark magic could raise the dead. The Resurrection Stone brought a pale shadow, a remembrance, a ghost. An Inferius was a twisted mockery of the departed. Snape deserved neither end.

 _"There was no other way, Harry — there was nothing stronger than love."_ Dumbledore had said it, and it was all that Harry had, the only reassurance that it had been worthwhile, that love had been enough. He had died, just as Snape had. Limbs stiff, blood slow and congealed, heart slow to start again, he had felt it. His death had been worth it.

He had lived again, and Dumbledore was gone — Harry had nothing but words and memories. Snape was gone. There were so many dead, and there was nothing that Harry could do for them.

Harry turned back to look at the grave. The earth lay in a dark mound, a scar raised over the coffin, and Harry blinked, rubbing his eyes. He feathered his fingers over his temples, quieting his pulse. There was nothing that he could say to Malfoy to make him understand. "He had a hero's funeral. He's had all of the honor and recognition that he deserved."

It sounded hollow. There was no way that Harry could convince himself, no matter what he said.

"He deserved to live." Malfoy stood in front of Harry, forcing his chin up until their gazes met. "He never had a chance to live outside of that war."

Earth to earth, buried as a hero or a villain, it was all the same. Harry's breath caught in his throat — Snape had loved Harry's mother, had earned Malfoy's devotion, and this was all that he had come to in the end. This was all that Harry had done for him, and he couldn't bring him back.

Harry didn't match gazes with Malfoy. He looked down at Malfoy's feet, at the furrows scuffed in the dirt, at the dust on his toes.

"Gryffindor," Malfoy said, his hand clenched on Harry's collar. The fabric was pulled tighter and tighter around Harry's neck, but he didn't flinch. "You impossible _Gryffindor_ , it isn't fair. He deserved more than this, and you're the only one who can give it to him."

Harry leaned forward, eyes closed and fists clenched, until his lips were a breath away from Malfoy's ear. "A lot of people died in that war, Malfoy, and I can't save any of them."

———-

Andromeda bounced Teddy on her knee, and Molly and Narcissa glared at each other over the baby, clinking china and sipping tea. There was more lace in Narcissa's robes than there was in the entire parlor — Harry sneezed, discreetly Banishing some of the dust. The Black family tapestry fluttered in the wake of his spell.

"He — he has Nymphadora's nose," Molly said, setting her teacup on her knee. It shook as she moved, tea spilling onto the carpeting and leaving vague, misshapen blotches there. Her fingers twitched and she fumbled for her wand, but Kreacher was there before her, cleaning the spill with a snap of his fingers.

Harry watched the three women, taking Teddy from Andromeda's arms when she reached for her own cup of tea. He stood by the tall window which was half-shrouded by the trailing, tamed Strangling Ivy that grew in hanging pots. Grimmauld Place was a mausoleum, no better than the graveyard where Malfoy had taken him. There were reminders of the dead everywhere.

Malfoy was not there — he'd disappeared after serving the tea, and Narcissa looked paler after he left. She did not look at Harry.

Molly tried to make conversation, but the silence fell flat around them. All of the pests and relics of Dark magic had been banished from the house, but the sense of darkness remained, weighty years and bloody years pressing down on the wood and stone of Grimmauld Place.

Teddy gurgled in Harry's arms and spat up on his shoulder before Andromeda whisked him away. "There, there," she said.

Narcissa rose, setting her tea aside — her white robes fell around her like a wedding gown, as stark and stiff as antique lace. She pointed her wand straight at Harry and hesitated a moment before Banishing the drool from his shirt. "You'll not harm my son," she told him, "or I'll go to the end of the earth to make you suffer for it."

She swept out of the room, leaving Molly and Andromeda silent in her wake. Draco reappeared, clearing away the tea things and giving Harry a mocking bow. He had not spoken to his mother.

Harry hadn't asked him to help. Harry hadn't asked for any of this — he reached for one of the teacups, he tried to help — and Draco brushed him away, bowing and then leaving.

"I'm sure she came to see Teddy as well as Draco," Molly said. "He's family, after all."

"The son of a half-blood and an animal, as she sees it." Andromeda rose, nodding to Harry. "Thank you for ... hosting this attempt at reconciliation. I'm sure you ... Any time you want to see Teddy, feel free to send me an owl or Floo over," she said, balancing Teddy in her arms as she gathered his things.

He was Remus's son, and he had Tonks's hair, blue and vibrant. Harry closed his eyes, reaching out to stroke his cheek with one finger. Teddy began to cry and Andromeda shifted him in her arms, bouncing him until he quieted.

Molly stood as well, coming over to Harry and patting him on the shoulder. "I'll send your best to Ginny, shall I? Thank you for the tea, Harry."

———-

Harry had been alone in Grimmauld Place before Malfoy forced his way into it. The creaking floorboards, the ghosts of Dark magic, the specter of Dumbledore in the front hall, the rapping of the pipes — it was all overlaid with Malfoy, his spice-sweet cologne and his harsh muttering.

"Get a move on," he said, dusting the mantelpiece with unnecessary vigor. "Don't —"

He spun, brandishing his dust rag at Harry. "I swore a vow to you," he said, the light glinting in his eyes. "You're bound by it, too — bring Professor Snape back to life, _Master_. He deserves another chance."

Harry leaned against the wall, running his finger in the dust that Malfoy hadn't yet disturbed. He had been alone here, had known the silence of Grimmauld Place and the noises the house made at night — old houses always made noise.

He had known the silence of the afterlife, and he had known the counsel and love of his family. It was more than some people had — it was more than Snape ever had. Malfoy flicked his rag through the air, sending a flurry of dust into Harry's lungs.

He coughed to expel it, his eyes watering as he grasped the mantelpiece for support. When he was able to breathe again, he watched Malfoy dust. "What happens if I don't do it?"

Malfoy took a step away from Harry, backing into the fireplace. "You have to do it," he said. "It's ancient magic — it's part of the vow."

"Is it an Unbreakable Vow? What happens if I don't do it?" Harry stepped closer, leaning into Malfoy's space. He put his hands on Malfoy's shoulders, close to his neck, and started to squeeze. "What if I never do it?"

Malfoy spat at his feet, the spittle landing on Harry's scuffed shoe. "The vow will begin forcing you to fulfill it," he said, his lips stretched tight over his teeth. "You'll do it, willing or not."

"Hermione will find a way out of it for me." Harry pushed Malfoy back, watching him bend and almost teeter into the fireplace. "You'll be bound to repay the life debt instead, and you won't have your precious Snape to save you either."

Harry had been alone in Grimmauld Place before Malfoy came, and someday — someday he would be alone there again, free to spend its silence as he wished. There were the Pensieve memories of his mum, there were the moments when she had spoken to him in the afterlife, there were long silent days ahead of him.

Hermione would find a loophole in the vow. He'd be free of Malfoy in one way or another.

———-

Ginny, her hair blazing in the dim morning light, was fumigating the courtyard garden. It had stood neglected behind the house all of these years — straggling vines grew over the rose trellises, choking them, and daisies had taken root and bloomed in the beds of aconite and belladonna. Weeds grew over the twisted cobblestone paths.

Through the clouds, the sunlight was pearly and grey, casting shadows on Ginny's face and on the tangled weeds. From the doorway, Harry watched her.

Hexes shot from her wand, fire-bright and lightning-quick, hitting and incinerating each weed. She demolished all of the belladonna with a single curse.

Harry stepped behind her, putting a hand on her hip. "You take after your mother," he said. Molly had looked like this when she faced Bella during the last battle, her mouth set in a thin line and her face pale.

Ginny spun to face him, her wand pointed straight at Harry's chest. She held it there for a long second before relaxing, her hand falling limp at her side. The tip of it smoked from her last spell. "Oh," she said, twisting her wand in her hands, "you startled me."

Malfoy popped into the garden then, balancing a silver tray in one hand as he landed awkwardly, his ankle twisted and his mouth pinched. "As you are bound to serve me, _Master_ , I am bound to serve you. Cucumber sandwich?"

Ginny pushed him away. "You may have to serve Harry, but that doesn't mean that you need to interrupt us, you slimy, sly ferret." She put her hand in Harry's, lacing their fingers together, and pulled him away from the sandwiches. "Come on," she said. "I thought that maybe we could get some lilies to plant in the garden — we'll put them over here, let me show you."

As they walked, Harry looked back at Malfoy. As he was backlit, with the pearly light a halo around him, it was impossible to see his face. Harry stumbled, and Ginny pulled him along the path. She hadn't wanted Malfoy to stay with Harry, but she'd had no choice but to accept it in the end. There was no way to break the vow that Malfoy had sworn.

"Watch where you're going," she said, but Harry didn't take his eyes off Malfoy. He hadn't protested when Ginny insulted him, and Harry hadn't said anything to defend him. Malfoy was his now, after a fashion — now that the vow bound them, now that he was helpless and had nothing more than a house-elf's magic, he was Harry's to protect.

———-

Ron and Hermione tumbled out from the Floo together, landing on the floor in a heap with their arms and legs entwined. Hermione leaned close to peck Ron on the cheek before she sprang to her feet, brushing down her skirts and rummaging through her bag.

"I've found it," she said, pulling out book after book. "The fealty oath is ancient magic, older even than your mother's sacrifice. The life debt was considered to be sacred, binding magic, and while no wizard would have tried to avoid it or wriggle out of it, there were plenty of wizards who weren't willing to sacrifice their life to make up the debt. They found a way to sacrifice their liberty instead. It's based on the spells that bind a house-elf to his master's family — a really fascinating use of Arithmancy, the servant actually begins to take on some of the characteristics of the house-elf —"

Ron stepped closer to Hermione, patting her on the shoulder and winking at Harry. "Slow down there, Hermione. Take a breath or two ... Harry isn't going to melt if he doesn't learn everything about it immediately."

She brushed him aside. "Harry needs to know," she said. "Malfoy is bound to him now and until Harry fulfils the conditions of the boon, Malfoy's forced to act like a house-elf. It's dreadful, Ron — it's complete enslavement, and it's completely wrong. Don't you see that?'

"I can't fulfill the boon," Harry said, stepping between Ron and Hermione before they could argue. The dusty chandelier shook, fracturing rainbows throughout the room, and the floorboards shifted under Harry's feet. He felt as though he was on unsolid ground, the mists white and welcoming around him as they had been when he came to King's Cross Station, when he went to his own death.

His family was not there to welcome him. Dumbledore was not there to guide him. Harry put a hand on the nearest chair, steadying himself.

"I can't fulfill the boon that Malfoy asked," he said again. "It would be necromancy or worse. Hermione, you've got to find another way to release him. He's bound to me somehow and I feel —"

"You'll want to protect him as long as the bond lasts — that's the duty of the liege lord — and Malfoy will want to care for you and see to your every need as your house-elf. He must have been desperate to do this, Harry, and you have to —"

"He doesn't have to do anything," Malfoy said, leaning against the doorway. His arm was raised over his head, pale against the dark paneling, and he stood there barefoot, with dusty footprints on the floor behind him.

"He doesn't have to do anything but fulfill my boon and finish the magical contract between us. One debt, one service, and one boon. As long as he thinks it necessary, I will serve him ... and then he will bring Snape back and set me free."

Hermione pushed Harry away, going to stand in front of Malfoy. She smoothed a smudge of dirt from his face. "You don't have to do this," she said. "You're worse than a house-elf — worse than a slave. You have a will of your own, and you can choose —"

"I chose this," he said. He didn't flinch back from her touch, but he looked at Harry while she touched him. "I chose this, knowing what I chose. _Master_ is the only one who can help me now ... the only wizard strong enough to conquer death. He's done it himself."

"It wasn't like that." Harry couldn't tell him how it was. He didn't have the words for it — the journey to his death, the walk that he made with his family around him for the first time, the white emptiness of the train station, the last words that he'd had with Dumbledore and the weight of his task. "I can't ... do that for Snape."

Malfoy stepped forward, as though he was going to walk through Hermione. She stepped out of his way, falling back, and he walked straight to Harry. "Snape did not deserve to die. He was a good man, and he didn't deserve the life he lived or the death he suffered. You are the only one who can change that, _Master_. You —"

Ron put a hand on Harry's arm, touching the skin that still tingled with the weight of the vow that bound him to Malfoy. Harry jerked away, still looking at Malfoy.

There was nothing that he could say — there was no way that he could save Snape. There was no way that he could describe death to Malfoy. Harry fled to the attic, taking Sirius's refuge. The floorboards shook under his feet and the house was full of echoes — memories of Order meetings and arguments, memories of Dumbledore's wisdom and guidance.

It was all gone now. The specter of Dumbledore, dust and memories, was all that was left at Grimmauld Place, and Harry didn't know what to do without him.

———-

"I won't ask anything of you." Harry poked at the lumps in his porridge, mashing them together with his spoon. Malfoy tilted his head, sniffing at the bowl of porridge.

"I hardly think that you can keep up that pose of Gryffindor selflessness for long," he said. "You'll want something. Everyone does."

"I won't," Harry told him. He stiffened and his spoon clanked against his bowl, falling from his fingers, as Malfoy leaned over him. Pouring Harry a cup of tea, his chest pressed against Harry's back, he spoke into Harry's ear.

"You could ask anything of me, and I would obey. You could humiliate me, make me pay for my father's sins, or make me ruin my family's honor — anything. My body is yours to command." He pressed his hands on Harry's shoulders, rubbing the stiff muscles.

"My mind," he said, his lips brushing against Harry's ear, "is something that you'll never win, and for as long as I breathe, I will want to see Snape returned to this life and given the chance that he should have had. That's the one thing that you'll do for me."

Harry shrugged Malfoy off and moved away. His fingers were cold, and he wrapped them around his teacup, taking in the heat of the tea through the thin porcelain. It was Sirius's family cup, the Black crest painted on it, and it was the last of the set, the only one to have escaped one of the vigorous cleaning purges. Harry had seen Dumbledore drinking from it, after Order meetings.

Standing by the window, Harry looked out onto the garden. Malfoy was reflected in the glass behind him, a pale shadow of his self. Harry closed his eyes.

Dumbledore never would have done it. It was dark magic, magic that went against the natural order of life and twisted it. "I can't do that for you," Harry said. "Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted to see you involved with Dark magic — Snape wouldn't have wanted it either." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the window, pressing the rim of the teacup against the window. The sound of glass on glass echoed through the pane, vibrating through Harry.

When he opened his eyes, Malfoy was gone.

———-

There was something to be said about being a hermit. Dumbledore had rarely gone out — he had his high tower, he watched over Hogwarts, he kept his own counsel.

Grimmauld Place pressed in on Harry, and still he didn't want to leave. It thrummed with Malfoy's heartbeat — it was the vow that bound them together and nothing more, but Harry's bones ached with the pull of it.

He had taken the sock and, taking it, had accepted Malfoy's oath. He had not known, but sometimes knowledge and intent meant nothing in the wizarding world. Harry had been a Horcrux, all unknowing — he had carried Voldemort's darkness in himself, and he had not chosen that.

He had his mother's love, and his last moments with his family. He had Dumbledore as a mentor, and he'd had a last chance to see him at the end. _It is our choices that show us what we truly are._

Ginny was at Harry's elbow, soft and sweet-smelling, and Draco poured tea for both of them. His lips were thin and pinched as he bowed, and Harry wanted to stop him.

He wanted to erase the pinched look on Draco's face — he wanted to ease his pain. There was nothing that he could do, but the vow bound him to Malfoy and tugged at him. His arm itched and his pulse throbbed in his temples, beating with the pull of the vow.

"You could ask Hermione," Ginny said, her spoon clanking against her saucer. She poured milk into her tea, pushing away Draco's hand. "I can do it myself, Malfoy."

Harry took his tea black. Draco was thin, too thin — his lean body was pressed against the wall, and he squeezed himself into the smallest space, out of their way and waiting to serve them. He made a mockery out of playing the house-elf, bowing and sneering.

Harry took a deep sip, burning his tongue. It was too much — he choked on it, spluttering until Draco came and took the teacup away from him. His hand lingered on Harry's until Harry pushed him away.

"I can do it myself," he said. "I don't need Hermione to think for me."

"Well, you haven't done a very good job of it so far." Ginny set her teacup down hard, liquid sloshing over the rim. She covered Harry's hand with her own, cold tea rubbed into his skin as she touched his knuckles. "He's still here, isn't he? I don't want him always around, Harry. He'll be a bad influence on Teddy — he's a bad influence on you already."

"I'm not some child that he can corrupt, Ginny." Harry's fingers shook as he reached for his own teacup, and he didn't look at Ginny. He had fought a war and died in it — he was no child to be led by her petty jealousies.

"You haven't left Grimmauld Place since he arrived. It's not healthy — what he does to you, the way he looks at you, it makes me sick, Harry. He's a Slytherin, and his evil plots —"

"Don't say that about him," Harry said, watching Draco. Shadows moved over his face and he looked thinner, thin enough to break in a strong wind — he leaned back against the wall, backing into the shadows and moving away from Harry's gaze. He disappeared with a pop that was so quiet, Harry could hardly hear it.

He was left alone with Ginny, and there was nothing for him to say. He couldn't defend Malfoy's motives — he barely knew them.

———-

It was sunny and breezy in Diagon Alley, and the weather was unseasonably warm, but no one stopped to chat or enjoy the day. Fortescue's was closed and Ollivander's was in ruins, shadows flitting over bricks and broken boards. Harry pulled Malfoy along with him — the vow was humming between them, and there was no way to escape.

The Prophet had printed the story and wrung all of the juicy details out of it — the details of the spell that hadn't been used for centuries, the ancient magics that had worked throughout Harry's life, the possible motivations for Malfoy's choice. There was no end to the stares that they received in Diagon Alley.

Harry walked in the shadows. Malfoy was slow behind him, his steps faltering, and Harry pulled him around the corner and into the verge of Knockturn Alley.

"Are you all right? Pull yourself together." He grabbed Malfoy's forearms and shook him, rattling him until he protested.

Malfoy came close to Harry, closer and closer until their foreheads touched. "They know," he said, his breath tickling Harry's ear. "They look at me and they know."

Harry didn't know how this had happened — pressed this close to Malfoy, and neither of them had their wands out to hex the other, neither of them wanted to kill the other one. Harry's grip on Malfoy's forearms was loose and not meant to bruise, and Malfoy didn't pull away from him.

"What do they know?"

Malfoy pulled a packet of cigarettes from the inner pocket of his robe, holding one of them out to Harry. His fingers shook a little, and Harry held the tip of his wand to the end of the fag until it glowed bright red.

"Thanks," Malfoy said. He took a long drag and then turned his head, blowing the smoke away from Harry. "They know that I'm bound to you — that I almost killed your mentor, that I would have died if not for you."

He smelled like smoke, and Harry leaned closer to take a deep breath. He filled his lungs with the smell and then he coughed and coughed. Malfoy steadied him and then pulled away.

"There's something that they don't know," he said. "They don't know that _my_ mentor died and you could have saved him. They don't know that my _Master_ has the power to grant my boon and set me free ... they don't know that you choose to keep me as your slave."

Grabbing Malfoy's arm again, Harry pulled him back to the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had been wrong. "This was a mistake," he told Malfoy. "You don't need to get out more — you don't need to be shown what a mistake you've made — you don't need compassion or sympathy because in spite of everything that you lost, you are still a world-class prick, Malfoy."

Malfoy stumbled as Harry dragged him to the Floo, but he didn't protest the rough grip of Harry's hand on his arm. He held his head high, not flinching when Harry's grip tightened, and he landed gracefully when they came through the Floo, landing back in Grimmauld Place.

"This is where you belong," he told Harry, Banishing all of the soot and straightening Harry's clothing. "This is where we both belong. I haven't been in public since —"

Malfoy's face was too pale. Harry didn't look at him — rubbing a last smudge of soot between his fingers, he looked at the black traceries that it made of his fingerprints. Before today, he hadn't left Grimmauld Place since they visited Snape's grave, and neither had Malfoy. He had come apart in public, and perhaps Hermione's doctrine of compassion wasn't misplaced.

"Tell me," he said. "That's an order, Malfoy — tell me. Have you been in public since the battle? Except for coming here, have you gone out in public after Snape died?"

"I went to his funeral." Malfoy took Harry's hand, his touch cold and impersonal, and he Banished the last of the soot. "Now, if you don't have any further need for soul-baring and confessions, I'll be cleaning the parlor ... with your leave, _Master_."

Harry's hand stung with the force of Malfoy's spell, and he shook it away, watching him go. There had been nothing for him — Snape's death, the end of the war, and all the funerals — there was nothing for Malfoy still. He had none of his power or his poses, nothing except his family.

He had nothing of Snape but the memories, just as Harry had nothing of Dumbledore but the wispy, insubstantial memories shelled in a heavy stone Pensieve.

———-

Ginny insisted that Malfoy had a Slytherin plan, and nothing Harry said convinced her otherwise.

Harry had seen him — had seen his shoulders slump when he spoke of Snape, had seen him wake sweaty and crying, bumping his head on the kitchen table when he sat up abruptly. He Banished his nest of blankets from the floor, sending them somewhere with house-elf magic, and he went out into the garden, working hard until the sun came up.

Hermione insisted that it was slavery and cruelty and that Harry had to find a way to release him. Ginny told him to see Hermione, that she would find the answer in a book and banish Malfoy from their lives.

Malfoy insisted that he needed Snape and that Harry was the only one who could bring him back to life. There was nothing — no magic that Harry knew, nothing that wasn't twisted or Dark. He would not bring Snape back as an Inferius.

If Hermione had seen Malfoy there, sleeping under the kitchen table and pillowing his head on his arms, there would have been hell to pay. As it was, Harry was the one to stand there and watch Malfoy sleeping. He twitched and turned, his hand coming up to cover his eyes as though he had bad dreams.

His bare feet poked out from under the blanket. Harry wanted to bend down and stroke the arch of his foot, touching the pale skin and waking Malfoy with the tickling.

He did not do it. They needed to find a place for Malfoy. Despite Ginny's protestations that he could not stay — he had to stay, the vow kept him here, and he couldn't sleep under the table. There were the rooms upstairs, but Malfoy had played the part of the house-elf and refused them. There was Sirius's room, where Harry slept now, but Malfoy had sneered at the pictures of the naked Muggle women and Banished them with a flick of his fingers. He'd cleaned the room and left it for Harry.

Dumbledore would have taken care of Malfoy — he had died so that Malfoy could live an untainted life. He had made Snape do it, and Malfoy clung to Snape even now, insisting that he needed to give Snape a second chance of his own.

———-

Harry went to Hogwarts, not to beg for Hermione's help and not to placate Ginny, but to use the library on his own. The books that he wanted were in the Restricted Section, forbidden and dangerous texts that Hermione didn't have access to. McGonagall let Harry into the library and Pince waved her hand at him, gesturing toward the Restricted Section.

No one argued with Harry as he made his way deep into the shelves, touching books that described the darkest magics. Dust flew from his fingers in tiny puffs, and he shuddered. He pulled down a stack of books, settling in at a table near the window, where the rays of light fell onto the pages in front of him.

Spell after blurry spell, the descriptions ran together: motions like waterfalls of mud, slow and unstoppable, and incantations and explanations mixed like the muddle of birdsong in an aviary. Harry rubbed his eyes, propping his chin on one hand. He'd found nothing.

Spells, charms, potions — they were all forbidden, all dark. Harry had tainted his soul with the Unforgivables, but he had never used magic as dark as this. To rend the shape of soul and time, to undo death, to waken Snape from his quiet coffin, his earthly rest — Harry could not do it.

Malfoy appeared as Harry thought it, popping into the library like a house-elf. Madam Pince glared and the students whispered, and Harry pulled him further into the Restricted Section. In the dust and shadows, he saw the sharpness of Malfoy's face, the strong lines of his jaw and cheekbone and the arch of his eyebrows.

Harry clenched his hand into a fist and did not reach out to touch Malfoy's face. This was the boy he had seen bleeding in the bathroom — this was the boy he had pulled from the Fiendfyre. This was Malfoy, and he was nothing more to Harry than that.

"Well?" Malfoy demanded. "You have to do it, P-Pot- _Master_. I pledged my fealty, and you —"

Harry's fingers closed around Malfoy's shoulder. The collarbone felt sharp and brittle to his hand — if he squeezed, Malfoy would break.

"I won't use dark magic," Harry said. "I won't create an Inferius. Snape wouldn't have wanted that."

"Bring him back," Malfoy said, "really bring him back, and you'll be rid of me forever."

There was nothing that Harry could do. Fingers stinging, pressed with the weave of Malfoy's shirt, he released Malfoy — he turned back to the shelves and he shook his head. "I can't."

———-

Harry hadn't found a space for him in Grimmauld Place, and in the end Malfoy took the pantry for his own room. He made a production out of it, an ordeal of sighs and labors. He pretended to ask Harry's permission and ordered Kreacher to move the heavy sacks of flour and sugar out of the room.

"Kreacher serves his Master and his Master only," Kreacher said, watching Harry.

Malfoy put his hand on his hip, pushing his hair back from his face and posing. "Oh, he won't mind if you serve me as well," he said. "Isn't that right, _Harry_ ... weren't you going to tell Kreacher to clear that little room for me?"

He tapped his foot on the floor, his bare foot almost silent as it touched the wood. Harry wanted to touch his foot, to feel if the skin was as soft as it looked. He wanted to learn if Malfoy had earned any calluses, going barefoot for so long.

"Don't act like a spoiled brat, Malfoy," Harry told him. "If you want something in this house, you can get it for yourself — those are the rules. Kreacher has enough to do already."

Harry's arm still itched where the sock had brushed his skin. Draco's arm was bare, the Dark Mark gone, and Harry was the one who was bound now. He watched Draco flounce off to the pantry and start tossing sacks and cans haphazardly into the kitchen.

A bag landed at Harry's feet and split open, flour puffing out in white clouds. It stung in his eyes and his throat. Harry coughed.

The barrage from the pantry continued. Another sack split open, spilling red kidney beans on the floor, and dented cans rolled underfoot. Kreacher screeched and began wringing his hands, running around the kitchen.

"Malfoy, cut it out," Harry called to him. "You can't just —"

Malfoy stuck his hand out of the pantry. There was a smear of dirt on his cheekbone, dust-grey and almost as pale as his skin. "Can't just what, _Master_?"

"When I said — when I said you had to do it yourself, I didn't mean that you could make a mess in here and leave it for Kreacher to clean up. You can't —"

Yawning, Malfoy covered his mouth with his hand. The smudge on his face stretched with his yawn, and Harry coughed, still clearing the flour from his throat.

"What makes you think that I was going to do that?"

The kitchen was a mess — flour and beans spilled on the floor, Kreacher clattering around after a tin of tomatoes that had rolled under the stove. Harry sighed and shook his head at Malfoy. "Don't try anything," he said. "Clean this up right now, and no magic."

He turned to leave, and then looked back at Malfoy. "And apologize to Kreacher. You won't abuse him — I'll make you regret it if you do."

———-

Spring was turning into summer, the brighter light bleaching Malfoy's hair. Kreacher had dug a pond in the garden, warding it from the smog of London and making the garden into a haven. Harry stood there with his feet in the mud, watching the pond fill with water. There would be goldfish and water lilies and lazy, swooping dragonflies in the summers. The light caught the clear water, throwing Harry's reflection back at him. He looked thin and pale, like a blind cave-dwelling fish, like a spindly and forsaken creature of Grimmauld Place. Harry rubbed his temples.

The house still stood dark and forbidding, casting a long shadow on the garden. Even in the sunlight, even in the bright day, it was still tainted with darkness. Kreacher muttered to himself as he worked, and Harry worked his feet further into the mud. It squelched between his toes.

Fingers caught him from behind and he whirled, stepping backwards to break the hold on his shoulders. "Hermione —"

"Harry," she said, sinking into the mud as she stepped toward him. "You can't honestly tell me that you mean to continue with this antiquated farce."

Harry shrugged, dipping his toes into the water. "It's done, Hermione. There's nothing that can change it — there's nothing that I could have done in the first place. It's ancient magic, same as what my mum used."

"He's a human being, Harry, not a house-elf."

When Harry said nothing, she stepped closer to him, her feet squelching in the mud. "He has rights, the same as you and I do," she told him. "He has feelings and needs, and he —"

"And he chose this, Hermione, and there's nothing that I can do about it. Do you think I enjoy having Draco bloody Malfoy chained to me, watching my every move and following me everywhere? Do you think I would have asked for this?"

She cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. "I've seen the way that you look at him," she said, and then she turned to leave.

It wasn't true — there was no particular way that Harry had looked at Malfoy. He hadn't asked for this.

Kreacher whistled when she was gone, splashing a fat goldfish into the pond. Its face was distended with chubby, bulging cheeks, and its fins were bright red, shining in the clear water. Harry leaned over to watch it swim around the pond, and it darted away from his shadow. Kreacher released another fish, and a splash of water flew up through the air, hitting Harry on the nose.

He wiped his skin dry, and while Kreacher continued to fill the pond, he went back into the house where Malfoy waited.

———-

Hermione had figured out how to dispel the charms on Grimmauld Place at last. She broke the tongue-tying curse, and banished the simulacrum of Dumbledore. It fell into the carpet with a final whooshing sigh, and Hermione flexed her wrist, slipping her wand into her pocket. "There's that," she said.

Harry led her to the kitchen and Kreacher appeared with a pop, pouring tea for them and setting out a plate with biscuits. "If Master Harry is wanting anything more, he is to be asking for the Draco instead. Kreacher is busy with attic cleaning, Master."

Pushing her tea away, Hermione scowled at Harry when he reached for a biscuit. "How can you tolerate this? It's slavery — it's a complete outrage."

"It isn't slavery. I don't ask anything of him," Harry said, taking a large gulp of his tea. It burned his throat as it went down, and he shuddered. "It's a stupid old custom but there isn't anything that I can actually do about it, Hermione."

"Stop Antiquated Life-debt Vows that Abolish Genuine Equality, S.A.L.V.A.G.E.," she said, stopping to take a breath. "I've filed the papers with the Ministry just today. It's registered as an official organization."

Harry blinked as piles of parchment appeared in front of him. The scrolls were heaped in slightly lopsided pyramids, and Hermione took the topmost one, handing it to him. "Mission statement, and everything that you need to know about our long-term goals."

"Membership requirements, membership roster, outreach efforts, and publicity." She piled the scrolls in Harry's hands, one after the other, and then stopped, plucking the last one off the top of the pyramid.

"Not that one, that's my shopping list. Ron wanted a roast for dinner, with veg and potatoes of course, and I'll pick up some ice cream from Florean's on my way home. You and Ginny can join us, if you'd like."

Harry set the scrolls on the table and turned to face Hermione. "Don't you reckon that this is a bit like SPEW?"

"S.P.E.W.," she said, "and no, it's completely different. These are humans who are being forced into contractual slavery by an antiquated ritual, Harry, and I'm disappointed in you that you aren't upset by it. Malfoy felt so overwhelmed by the pressure of the life debt that he was forced to —"

"Bollocks," Harry said, pushing the scrolls back toward her. "Malfoy knew exactly what he was doing when he got into it. He's a Slytherin, and this is all going according to his plan, Hermione. You can't honestly feel _sorry_ for him ..."

Malfoy popped into the kitchen just then, landing at Harry's elbow. "Mistress Granger, how good to see you," he said with a bow.

" _Master_ , did you call me?" Malfoy's feet were bare, and his elbow brushed Harry's arm as he leaned over, sliding a plate of biscuits onto the table. "Did you want some more tea? Yours is cold."

"No, no," Harry said, raising a hand to block him. He would not ask Malfoy for anything. "It's really all right."

Their hands touched and Malfoy froze, looking directly at Harry. "As you wish, _Master_."

———-

Dumbledore would have known what to do, but Harry stood in the doorway and watched. Malfoy had his arse in the air, his back hunched as he bent into the Floo, and Ron was staring at Malfoy's arse, the fire poker in his hand.

It was what Sirius would have done — it was what Dumbledore had let Sirius do to Snape. Grimmauld Place felt cold and drafty, and Harry rubbed the gooseflesh from his arms. It was not about Sirius and Snape.

Ron let the poker fall with a clatter, and Malfoy jumped, banging his head against the mantel. "Why you —"

He stopped when he saw Ron. His hand rubbing his forehead, he bowed. "Any friend of my _Master_ is always welcome here, of course. Is there something that I can do for you, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron sprawled on the sofa, pulling a box of Bertie Bott's beans from his pocket. "Sort through these for me. Anything that looks disgusting ... eat it."

"Your plebeian tastes —"

"Just do it." Ron slouched further into the cushions.

It was harmless. A few jellybeans wouldn't hurt Malfoy, but Harry wanted to force-feed the liver-flavored ones to Ron until he gagged, until the smirk faded from his face.

He watched Malfoy hold up a brown one, squinting at it in the light, and shrug before putting it to his lips.

"You know," Ron said, startling Malfoy into dropping it, "you've caused my family a lot of grief. My fiancée is up in arms — my sister is upset — and that's just this, Malfoy, that's just your idiotic vow, not the things that you did during the war."

Malfoy let the brown jellybean disappear under the couch. He took a speckled grey bean from the box and sniffed at it. "If you think that I did this because of your family —"

"Harry is ignoring his girlfriend — my _sister_ — because you've fucked up his life," Ron said.

Harry started forward when he saw the expression on Malfoy's face. He'd swallowed the jellybean, his nose pinched closed, and his lips curled. "Pewter polish," he said. "That was completely revolting."

"Go wash your mouth out with soap," Ron said, leaning over the edge of the sofa and flicking a dust bunny at Malfoy. It hopped twice before exploding into a tiny cloud of black dust in Malfoy's face. "Whoops," Ron said. "Must have been another one of those old spells here."

Harry's fists clenched, and he strode across the room, standing between Ron and Draco. "You don't have to do anything that he tells you to do," he said, and then he turned to Ron. "I can't believe that you'd take advantage of him like that, Ron. He's helpless, and you —"

"That's what he wants you to think, you idiot." Ron jumped up from the sofa, his face flushed. He still towered over Harry, and Harry had to raise his chin, looking up at him.

"This is all a Slytherin plot to gain your trust so that he can murder you in your bed and use some slimy Dark ritual to bring back You-Know-Who."

"Voldemort," Harry said. Ron flinched, but Malfoy held his ground.

"Can't handle the name, Mr. Weasley?"

"You're a brave man, standing behind Harry's protection and using him like this. Afraid that you'd be tried for war crimes, Malfoy? Was this the only way out of it that you could find?"

"Ron, you know that's not true —"

Ron shook Harry's hand away, striding out of the room without another look at Malfoy. "Save it, Harry. Tell my sister why you're ignoring her and then come talk to me about it."

Harry stared after him, and then Malfoy was at his elbow, offering him the half-finished box of Bertie Bott's Beans. "Master?" he asked, and there was no hint of sarcasm when he said it. Harry looked at him, blinking when their hands brushed together.

There was nothing that Harry needed to say to Ginny — no way that he needed to defend his relationship with Malfoy. There was nothing that could be done about it.

"No, that's all right," Harry said. He shook his head and drew his wand, blasting the dust on the carpet with a Banishing spell. His fingers stung with the force of it and he rubbed the feeling back into them.

———-

Ginny was home from Hogwarts, living at the Burrow and making unsubtle hints about moving into Grimmauld Place with Harry. The house wasn't ready for her — yes, the garden had been restored, and all of the poisonous plants had been replaced with the flowers that she loved, but the house itself was still a minefield of dark spells. Harry found at least once a day, and Draco saved him more often than not.

He went down the stairs like a load of bricks, hitting each one in the wrong places, when a Black family skeleton leapt out of the woodwork, tripping him. The bones jiggled together, making a rattling noise that sounded like a cackle.

"Begone." Malfoy popped into the hallway and banished the apparition with a word, and then ran down the stairs to Harry. "Master?"

Harry's spine ached as though each vertebra had hit a step as he went down. Malfoy grabbed his elbow, hoisting him up, and Harry stretched, popping his joints back into place.

"Thanks," he said. "You didn't have to do that."

"Whether you give me any orders or not ... I swore an oath of fealty," Draco said. He hesitated and then brushed his fingers over Harry's forearm, a light touch that was only enough to tease.

The hair on Harry's arm stood on end, and Malfoy's fingers hit the exact spot where his sock had touched Harry. It felt warm, having Malfoy's hand there now, and Harry shuddered as the tingles ran down his spine.

"You swore a vow to me, too."

Harry shook his head. "I didn't — I can't do that."

"It's part of the magic." Malfoy leaned closer, until the warmth of his breath was against Harry's neck, until the flutter of his eyelashes when he blinked was the only thing that Harry saw.

"Bring Snape back," he said. "Please, _Master_."

The sarcasm was back — Malfoy spit his title out, his lips pursed as if he'd swallowed soap. No matter what he said, Harry couldn't give him what he wanted.

The door slammed open. Harry jumped away from Malfoy, rubbing his arm as if he'd been stung.

"This is why you don't want me to move in here," Ginny said, looking between Harry and Malfoy. "You need more time to canoodle with your _sweetheart_ , your _pet_."

"Ginny, it's not that." Harry caught her arm before she could storm out of the room and he held her tight. "It's not like that at all," he repeated. "Malfoy means nothing to me, I promise you that."

Malfoy meant something — a vow, a duty, a nuisance — but it was nothing that would interfere with what Harry had with Ginny. It wouldn't.

Harry pressed kisses along the line of Ginny's chin, and took her in his arms as the door slammed shut behind Malfoy. "It's not like that at all, love. I want the house to be safe before you move in."

Harry's parents had had this — even in the middle of a war, they had each other. Harry grasped Ginny around the waist, lifting her in the air and swirling her around the room until her robes billowed out like the full sails of a ship. She clung to him, kicking her feet against his shins and laughing.

He put her down with a kiss — she stepped on his feet, her high heels hitting his toes, but he hid his wince. It didn't matter when it was with her, after all.

Harry's forearm still itched where Malfoy had touched him, but the skin was prickled with cold and almost painful to the touch. The vow clung to him, even when he was with Ginny, even when he tried to forget it. He rubbed the warmth back into it, leading Ginny out into the garden and the afternoon sunlight.

"I don't need to be coddled," she said, linking her arm through Harry's. "I'm perfectly capable of living in a house that has a few Dark artifacts —"

"I know, love. Humor me." In the garden, her bright hair outlined by the white lilies and the climbing ivy, Ginny was beautiful. Harry pressed a kiss to her hand and tried not to think of the war — tried not to think of the bodies littering the battlefield and the curses that cluttered Grimmauld Place — he tried to love her and mean it.

———-

Malfoy was out in the garden, the sunlight beating down on his pale skin — he bent over the fishpond with Kreacher, feeding the fish. Harry paused to watch him from the window, his fingers pressed against the warm glass. He was moving Malfoy's things into one of the upstairs bedrooms.

The pantry was needed, that was what he had told Ginny. Kreacher had complained again and again that it was impossible for him to prepare proper meals — he would do anything for his Master, he said, but to do more than brew a cup of tea —

Ginny wouldn't like it. It was better than having Malfoy sleeping under the kitchen table or in the pantry, his bare feet peeking out from under the blankets. Harry set down the last pile of Malfoy's things, casting a quick spell to set them in order.

The dust had been Banished from the room. The floors and woodwork shone with lemon polish, and the light streamed into the room through a clean window. Harry pulled the quilt up over the bed and bent to fluff the pillows.

He heard a noise from the door and turned to see Malfoy there, clearing his throat and glaring at Harry. His old robe fell open, baring the pale skin of his neck — it looked soft, the material worn down to ratty comfort, and Harry's fingers itched, wondering if the robe felt as soft as Malfoy's sock. The air pulsed with Malfoy's presence, the bond pulsing between them.

Harry felt trapped, as awkward as if he'd been caught by the tongue-tying curse that Moody had used to protect Grimmauld Place. He stared at Malfoy until he crossed the room, standing in front of Harry.

"What is _Master_ doing here?"

Harry did reach out to touch him then, his fingers brushing Malfoy's forearm. "You'll be sleeping here from now on," he said. "The pantry is needed ... Kreacher wants to start getting ready for the holidays."

"You can't force me to —"

"I can," Harry said, tightening his grip on Malfoy's arm. The lump of blankets under the table, the cushions stolen from the parlor to pad the pantry floor — Harry's spine hurt when he thought of it. Malfoy needed a proper bed, and Harry pushed him toward it before releasing him.

"You swore a vow," Harry said. "You'll stay in here. You're in Kreacher's way in the pantry."

Malfoy made a servile bow, but when he looked at Harry, his eyes were hard and glinting. "It is not a house-elf's place to stay in a bedroom, _Master_."

He stripped the blankets from the bed, bundling them into the cupboard. Taking the pillows, he made a bed for himself there. "You're bound by this vow as much as I am," he said. "You haven't fulfilled your half of it."

Malfoy climbed into the cupboard, nesting in the blankets and wrapping them around himself. He glared again at Harry before slamming the door in his face.

———-

It was Malfoy's feet. Harry's fingers clenched around his teacup, and hot tea sloshed over the rim, burning his fingers, but he paid no attention to the pain. Malfoy was there in an instant, mopping up the spill with a soft white cloth. He brushed it over the spill several times and then, leaning as far away from Harry as he could, dabbed at Harry's fingers.

"Does _Master_ need a healing spell?" The edge was there in Malfoy's voice, and the way he said the word Master made Harry want to hit him. There was nothing servile about it — loathing, barely buried, and no small measure of scorn.

"Is _Master_ too clumsy to drink his tea? Shall Draco hold the cup for him?"

"No," Harry said. He stared into the tea, the rising steam and the floating leaves, and then he closed his eyes.

"Shall Draco fetch his _Master's_ pet Weaselette and ask her to feed him so that he doesn't spill tea all over like a baby?"

"I didn't — she isn't —"

"Of course, _Master._ " Draco sneered at him, and there was nothing to it. He pushed the vow to its limits, and Harry was still bound by it. He was bound by Malfoy's ridiculous request, bound to protect him and to care for him —

No. He wasn't bound to care for Malfoy, of all people. The oath might pressure him to take care of Malfoy, but there was nothing more to it than that. Harry rubbed his temples, squinting until his eyes were closed even tighter. He saw colors in the darkness, vivid flashes of Crucio crimson and Avada Kedavra green that made his head ache.

"You can go — go do whatever it is that you do when you aren't making my life miserable."

"As my _Master_ wishes."

Harry opened his eyes in time to watch Malfoy leave, and there it was. His feet — his pale, bare feet padding on the hard wood floors, the graceful arch and the curve of his toes — they were all that Harry saw, whenever Malfoy was near.

His tea sloshed over the table, tea leaves floating away in the liquid. It didn't take skill at Divination to see that Malfoy was a problem. Harry cursed and Banished the mess.

———-

There was nothing for Harry to do but listen. He stood just out of the doorway, in the shadows, and watched the light play over Draco's face. Ginny brandished a whisk, the metal gleaming in her hand, and she leaned over Draco, her lips close to his ear.

"What are you doing to Harry?"

Draco was slumped at the kitchen table, his face half-turned toward Harry and his back sloped like the curve of a swan's neck. "Nothing," he said.

When he looked up, he looked toward Harry and almost seemed to see him there in the shadows. Harry Disillusioned himself, the spell sliding around him like cold egg yolks. Ginny stepped closer to Draco, rapping the whisk on the kitchen table, and Draco still looked toward Harry.

"Is this what Snape taught you, then?" Ginny asked. "Your great mentor, your example of self-interest and ambition? You tie yourself to Harry's service and get nothing in return ... and we're expected to believe that a slimy Slytherin like you would do such a thing?"

He turned away from her. "You aren't expected to believe anything."

The whisk rattled against the table when Ginny dropped it, rolling over the edge like a silver-spoked wheel and hitting the floor. She circled around Draco, putting a finger under his chin and tilting his head up to look him in the eyes. "I don't trust you near Harry and I don't want you in this house."

She touched him as though he was contaminated, and when she released his chin, she stepped back, wiping her fingers on her robe. "Find another way to get on with your life, ferret-face. Accept that your precious Snape is dead, and leave my Harry alone."

Draco didn't answer her. He turned to the left, bending to pick up the fallen whisk, and rinsed it in the sink, fillips of bubbles coming from his wand. A burst of hot air dried it, and he turned back to Ginny. "Were you needing this, _miss_? Or is there something that I can prepare for you?"

She stared at him for a long moment. "If I ordered you to leave, then you..."

"You are not my master," Draco said.

Ginny nodded and, her fists clenched in her robes, strode from the kitchen. Harry faded further into the shadows, watching her go.

———-

Ginny was gone for the weekend, and Harry was alone in Grimmauld Place with Malfoy and Kreacher. He slunk into the library, taking down another book from the shelves — Sirius's family had a generous supply of books, but they held mostly Dark knowledge and spells. Harry had yet to find a solution.

There had to be a way out of this — it could not drag on like this, years and years with Draco like a house-elf at Grimmauld Place and Snape rotting in his coffin. Harry put his quill in his mouth, chewing on it until the feather was wet and mangled, the shaft of the pen twisted and bent. He stopped, tasting bitter ink, feeling Malfoy's hands on his shoulders.

"That's no way to treat a quill," Malfoy said, taking it from Harry. He smoothed it out until the shaft was straight again and then dipped it in the inkwell before handing it back to Harry. "There you are, Master."

He used his voice, making the word a caress instead of a curse. Harry felt the heat of Malfoy's body at his back. If he leaned back, if he leaned into that touch — no. Harry scooted his chair closer to the table, turning the page of the book that was open in front of him.

Draco followed him, his hands on Harry's shoulders again, kneading the tight muscles there with his fingers. He bent close to Harry, looking over his shoulder. "What are you looking for, _Master_ \- some way to break my vow to you? You won't find one."

The sarcasm was back. Draco's fingers were still warm, his breath was warm on Harry's neck, and Harry found his fingers twitching, aching to touch Draco in return. There was nothing between them, nothing but a vow.

Draco was close to him, his breath raising gooseflesh on Harry's neck, his chest pressed against Harry's back. "You won't find anything," he said again. "Life debts are an old and powerful magic. Now, if you're looking for some spells to help you bring Severus back —"

He raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and a dozen books flew from the shelf to land in his palm. "These might be more appropriate," he finished.

Harry pushed the books away and drew back as though his hand had been scorched. "I won't —"

"You have to." Draco stopped his massage, his fingers lingering on Harry's neck for an instant. The warmth stayed long after he pulled away and left Harry alone in the room.

———-

Draco ambushed Harry in the pantry, pinning him against the barrel of flour. Harry stiffened when he felt a warm body pressed behind him. Draco said nothing, his breath warm on Harry's ear, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore him. Fumbling in the vegetable bin, he found the cucumbers by touch.

"I was going to make a sandwich," he said. "Do you want one?"

"It isn't your place to do that for me, _Master_."

Draco pulled Harry from the pantry, taking the cucumber from him. Their fingers lingered together on the fruit — Harry's were still cold from the magic of the chilled vegetable bin, and Draco's fingers were warm against his. "Let me do that," Draco said.

He made sandwiches while Harry sat in the kitchen, drinking lukewarm tea and watching Draco's graceful motions with the knife. It flashed in the air, snicking through the cucumber and thudding against the wooden board. Draco chopped vegetables the way he had prepared ingredients for potions — each cut was precise and perfectly calculated. He brought Harry a plate of sandwiches and set them down on the table, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Was there anything else, _Master_?"

"Sit with me," Harry said, pushing the plate of sandwiches toward him. "Eat something."

"It isn't my place —"

"I'll tell you where your place is," Harry said. The vow tugged on him, binding him to Draco. It wasn't easy to give Draco orders, but it thrummed through his veins, pulsing like magic with his heartbeat. Draco was bound to him.

Hermione would flinch to see him commanding Draco and being obeyed. Ron would have a field day with it, lumping his own orders into the mix. Dumbledore would have — Harry didn't know what Dumbledore would have done. He'd have found a way out of the vow and a way to save Snape and Draco.

"Snape did this for me," Draco said, taking one of the sandwiches. He snapped his fingers and another cup of tea appeared, steam rising to frame Draco's face. "He sat me down with tea and sandwiches ... that last year, whenever it got to be too much."

Harry took a sandwich for himself, popping a quarter of it into his mouth in one bite. The cucumber crunching between his teeth, he said, "I don't think that Snape —"

"He wasn't the man that you thought he was," Draco said, nibbling on his own sandwich. "The bastard professor, the hardened Dark wizard, the ruthless Death Eater —"

"I know," Harry said. "He loved my mother." He slipped his wand out of his pocket and Summoned his Pensieve. "Here," he said, leaving Draco alone with the sandwiches and the Pensieve. "I have some memories of his, if you'd like to see them."

He took his tea with him, warming his hands around the cup, and he sat brooding in the window, imagining Draco in the kitchen with Snape's memories. Memories were all that Harry had of his dead — even with the vow pressing him for more, it was all that he could give Draco.

———-

There was nothing that Harry had done to deserve this. Draco on his knees in front of Harry, his lips pressed against Harry's hardening cock — Harry felt his warmth through the scratchy woolen trousers. Pressed against the wall, he couldn't take a step backwards.

"Stop," he said. The word hurt his throat, and he swallowed hard.

Draco sat back on his heels, licking his lips as he looked up at Harry. He put one hand on Harry's hip, pinning him to the wall, and stroked Harry's cock with the other hand. His grip was firm and sure, with the right amount of pressure — Harry's knees buckled, and he braced himself against the wall. "Stop it."

Draco's hand froze. "You could ask anything of me," he said. He licked his lips again and he tilted his head, looking up at Harry. "I'd do it for you — I'd serve you in any way, _Master_."

He stroked Harry's cock, his touch lighter but not at all hesitant. He shifted, stroking Harry's belly, touching his thighs, fumbling to slip his fingers under the waistband of his trousers. He teased and teased, and Harry's heart pounded in his chest. "What do you want?"

It was never better. The world outside was bright and full of grief — Grimmauld Place was full of reminders, but the world was full of people who had moved on. Harry had stayed here, and no one touched him. No one had touched him like this in years, not even Ginny.

"I want to fulfill my vow to you," Draco said. He pressed his mouth against Harry's cock, tonguing him through the fabric of his trousers while his fingers fumbled with the buttons. "I want you to fulfill your part of the vow as well."

He looked up at Harry, his lips shining and his eyes wide. Harry took a deep breath and shoved him away.

"No," he said. Draco fell, catching himself with both hands. He was graceless and awkward and he spread his legs for Harry. He braced himself up with both elbows and thrust with his hips in a pantomime of fucking.

"You could ask anything of me."

"The answer is still no." Harry stepped over him and Draco grabbed his ankle, holding him off-balance. He pressed kisses to it, sucking on the hard ridge of Harry's ankle bone, tonguing the skin there while his fingers worked to pull off Harry's shoe.

"Please," he said, breathless and wanton. Harry pulled his ankle out of Draco's grasp and stumbled away. He was hard, his cock aching, and he needed more. He needed to have Draco touching him again, kneeling in front of him. He wanted to fuck Draco's mouth, hold his head in both hands and slide into him, his cock sheathed in the warm wetness of Draco's throat.

He couldn't do it.

Harry clenched his hands into fists and turned away from Draco. "No," he said, hurrying to the door. "I won't take you like this. I won't take advantage of you."

He stumbled down the hallway and locked himself in the upstairs loo, casting silencing charm after silencing charm. He took himself in hand and stroked, wanking and pretending that he felt the warmth of Draco's skin on his, the firm grasp of Draco's fingers on his cock. His eyes closed, he saw Draco's face.

After, he felt empty and listless. The only thing that he could think of was Dumbledore, lit up by bright white lights and smiling at him in King's Cross Station. Harry hadn't taken advantage of Malfoy, hadn't twisted the vow to his own ends and hadn't used dark magic. He had done the right thing — Dumbledore would have been proud of him. That would have to be enough.

Harry cast a harsh cleaning charm, wincing as it scoured his skin. There was nothing else that he could do.

———-

Setting the teapot on the table, Draco leaned too close to Harry. Their shoulders brushed together, and Harry froze. His pulse rattled in his wrist, his teacup shook on its saucer, and he pushed Draco away.

"Don't touch me."

Draco was shaken by that, his fingers trembling as he reached around Harry to right the teacup. "If _Master_ orders it, I won't touch him again. If there's an emergency, if his _Master_ is bleeding his heart out, Draco will obey and not touch —"

Harry whirled around, his chair clattering against the table as he shoved it aside. He advanced on Draco, backing him into the wall. "Stop it," he said. "Stop pretending."

Draco's mouth was open and his body was pressed flat against the wall. He looked pale against the grime of Grimmauld Place. "I don't know what you —"

"You know what I mean," Harry said. He put his hands on either side of Draco's shoulders, trapping him there.

Draco yielded, his body soft and pliant as he pressed against Harry. He raised his mouth to Harry's and stopped just short of a kiss. "I know that you want me," he said.

"I don't," Harry said. "I don't want you like this."

He took a deep breath and thought of Dumbledore. He'd died to keep Draco from casting an Unforgivable Curse. He'd died to keep Draco pure.

There was to be nothing of Darkness in the world now. Voldemort was gone now and Harry had died to pay for it — although there had been darkness in him, it was gone with Voldemort. The Horcrux gone, he was pure now. The Unforgivables that he had cast were washed away, and he would not use Dark magic again.

His fingers itched to touch his wand, to feel the smooth holly under his fingers again. His heart beat faster at the thought of making Draco smile. Harry closed his eyes and pulled away from Draco.

"I won't take advantage of this or of the vow that you made, Draco. It wouldn't be right."

Draco pressed himself against Harry again and claimed him for a kiss. "I want you to take advantage of me, _Master_."

"You don't." Harry pushed him away, held Draco to the wall with one hand firm on his chest. He felt Draco's heart beating fast.

If he touched Draco's bare skin, he would feel scars there — scars that Harry had created. He would not taint Draco again.

"You're just trying to get at me," he said. "You want Snape and nothing else. If things were different —"

Draco put a hand on Harry's, stroking his fingers. He took Harry's hand and turned it over, touching the creases in his palm and the veins that ran down his wrist. He took a step closer to Harry, and Harry didn't push him away.

"If things were different?" Draco asked.

The thought of Draco pliant underneath him, letting Harry thrust into him — the thought of Draco kneeling in front of him again, unfastening his trousers this time — the thought of Draco taking Harry's cock down his throat — Harry swallowed. "If it wasn't for the vow, I would want you."

Draco kissed the center of Harry's palm and the tip of each of his fingers. He slid two of Harry's fingers into his mouth, sucking on them. His tongue stroked Harry's fingers, and his throat worked as he swallowed.

"Promise?" he asked, licking his lips as he looked straight at Harry.

Harry's cock had grown hard at Draco's display. He wiped his fingers dry on his trousers and cleared his throat. "Only you," he said. "I promise."

———-

Harry had made promises to Ginny. He had come for her after the war — he had loved her, and he did not love Draco. It was a life debt, a vow of fealty, a trick of magic and not his heart.

"I won't have you ... none of that," Harry said. "I'm not your master in bed."

Draco flicked the ashes from his cigarette into the air, Banishing them as they arced toward the carpet. "You will take me to your bed then?"

His skin was smooth and his body was all hard lean lines, warm to Harry's touch and pliant under his hands. Draco moved as Harry moved him, coming up for a kiss and then going down to nuzzle Harry's cock through his trousers, Draco's face pressed against his groin.

"I want you," Harry said. That much was true — he knew it. He didn't want the complications of the vow, the pull and tug of power and need and magic, but he did want Draco in his arms, in his bed. Their skin slid together, and Draco tasted like cigarette smoke and spices. Harry kissed him slowly, their tongues moving together, and Draco's hands moved along Harry's back, dipping down to knead his arse.

Harry pulled him closer, grinding into him, and then pushed him away, his hands on Draco's shoulders. "I — we —"

Draco's lips were swollen and he ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it. He didn't say anything.

Harry had made promises to Ginny — he pushed Draco away, but his hands were slow to leave Draco's shoulders and he still held him there against the wall. "If things were different —"

"You said that last time." Draco pulled Harry to him, his fingers gentle as they framed his face, drawing him close for a kiss. "You said that last time, and I won't ask anything of you — I won't bring up the vow or ask anything of you. I want this ... I want something for myself, Harry. I want you."

Draco had nothing — he had given himself to Harry, his feet were bare, his clothes were shabby, and the one thing that he had asked for, Harry had denied him. Harry kissed him and drew him up to the guest bedroom, leading him down the hallway with the low ceiling. The shadows fluttered over Draco's face and Harry stopped to kiss him after every step, drunk on the smell and taste of him.

He had to give Draco something. He had to give him this, and he wanted to do it — it was that simple.

He learned all of Draco, touching him everywhere, stripping off his clothes as they went. "I promise," he said, pulling Draco down to the narrow bed. "I do love you," he said. "I promise."

———-

When Ginny moved into Grimmauld Place, she began to speak in a code. Harry was hard-pressed to understand her. He caught oblique meanings from her words, like sunlight reflected from water to window to sky.

"Have you done the dishes yet, dear?" she asked, shifting on the sofa. She moved away from Harry, picking up a book from the table and holding it loosely in her hands.

If Harry had done the dishes ... she meant to ask if Harry had banished Draco from their home. Harry's stomach twisted into a knot. "Not yet."

"That's fine," she told him, opening the book in the middle and paging through it. "I can spell them clean later."

Draco never helped. He refused to acknowledge Ginny's presence and he refused to obey her orders. He sent Harry smoldering looks when she was watching.

"You promised," he said again and again, "you promised." His lips moved soundlessly, and Ginny never heard the words. She saw them spoken, and that was enough.

Promises hung between the three of them, outlined by their tension as spiderwebs were outlined by morning. Harry had made too many promises.

He found Draco in the kitchen, beating eggs with a silver whisk. It flashed in the light as he moved it, faster and faster, and Harry put a hand on his to stop him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't — there isn't —"

"I understand." Draco didn't look at him. "If there's nothing else, Master?"

"It's different," Harry said. He stroked the veins on the back of Draco's hand, rubbing each raised line with his thumb. He leaned close to kiss the nape of Draco's neck, smelling his soap and cigarettes. "Ginny is — expected. Safe. She's going to give me a family."

Draco turned to look at him then. "I had a family," he said, "and it was destroyed by the war that you won. The one man I respected, the one man who taught me anything that was decent and good — you could give him back to me. You could give him the second chance that he deserves, but your high-handed morals won't stand for that, will they? The Chosen One and Savior doesn't use Dark magic."

Snape had deserved more than a half-life, a mockery of life. He had been hard and demanding and he had lived a hard life, but he would not be dishonored by the Dark magic that he defeated. Harry wouldn't make him into an Inferius.

He took Draco's hand and pressed a kiss to the wrist, tasting the salt and sweat of his skin, before he left the kitchen.

One of these days, Harry would have to tell Ginny that he had done the dishes — he would have to give her an answer, and there was no way for him to give it.

———-

There was a single memory in the Pensieve when Harry woke — a silver wisp snagged on a rough patch at the bottom of the basin. It shimmered in the half-light, and Harry leaned closer.

There was a folded piece of parchment, propped up against the Pensieve, and Harry stopped, his fingers inches away from it. "Kreacher?"

"Yes, Master?" He appeared with a pop, standing at the foot of the double bed, his fingers twitching toward the duvet. "Kreacher will clean for Master?"

"Do you know who left this here?" Harry asked him. His fingers were close enough to skim around the rim of the Pensieve, his skin almost brushing against the rough stone. This Pensieve had belonged to Dumbledore, and Harry hadn't used it since —

"Kreacher was putting it there. Master Malfoy was asking him, and Kreacher was doing it."  
  
Harry turned from the Pensieve, facing Kreacher and kneeling until they were at the same level. He looked Kreacher in the eyes. "You don't have to do anything that Malfoy tells you to — you know that, right?"

"Kreacher was choosing to do it. Master Malfoy is a part of the household now that he is belonging to Master."

"Yes, but —"

Kreacher's fingers twitched, tangled in the duvet. "He is belonging to Master, yes. Kreacher is cleaning now?"

Harry waved him away, turning back to the Pensieve. The wisp of memory shimmered there, as pale as Draco's hair.

He leaned toward the memory, his face just over the surface of it, but he saw no figures, no hints in the mist. He brushed his fingers around the rim of the Pensieve and reached for the note.

 _You don't think that Snape was worth saving because you didn't know him,_ the note read. _I dare you to know him and let him die._

———-

Harry found Draco in the garden, both his elbows propped on one of the headless stone cherubs. Wings sprouted from its back, framing Draco's arms, and Harry stopped to look at him.

The cherubs, before they had been beheaded, had had obscene expressions on their faces. Torture, rape, grief — they were part and parcel of Grimmauld Place, and Harry hated them.

Draco looked peaceful, leaning on one and watching the garden through half-lidded eyes. He looked free, as though he wasn't bound by his vow or his pursuit of justice for Snape.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, breaking the moment. He moved closer to Draco, close enough to touch him.

Draco didn't open his eyes. His toes wriggled in the grass, pale against the dark spring green. "The sun is warm and the insane house-elf is inside."

Harry put his hand on the cherub's wing, inches from Draco's elbow. "If he's bothering you —"

"No. I may be bound, but I do have house-elf magic." Draco snapped his fingers, and a packet of cigarettes appeared. He lit one with another snap of his fingers and took a long drag on it before offering it to Harry. "Want one?"

His fingers shaking, Harry took the cigarette. It had touched Draco's mouth. He put it to his lips and breathed deeply, inhaling the smoke. It smelled like autumn spices, warm and comforting, but it was acrid and sharp enough to burn his lungs. He coughed, and Draco pounded him on the back.

"You've never done it before, have you." It wasn't a question. Draco's eyes were clear grey, and his hand stayed on Harry's back, rubbing back and forth along his vertebrae.

Harry wanted to push into his touch and demand more, but he pulled away. "I don't —"

Draco took the cigarette from Harry's fingers and took another puff from it. He held it as Harry had held it, and leaned over to pass it to him again.

"The trick is breathing out," he said. "You have to breathe properly, Master."

When Draco kissed Harry, it was as good as the first time, as sweet as if they'd never been apart. He tasted like cigarette smoke, like cloves and other spices. Their lips were pressed together, and Draco's skin was warm to Harry's touch. He stroked Draco, touching his bare skin everywhere he could reach it — neck, shoulders, and slipping under his shirt to stroke the small of his back.

Draco pulled away. He held onto Harry's shoulders as though he needed the balance, and took shallow breaths. He kissed Harry again, but this time, his lips did not linger on Harry's.

"The memories that were in the Pensieve —"

Draco cut him off with another kiss, his hands still on Harry's shoulders. "I've kept them safe," he said. "I — I'd like to keep them, if I may."

Harry nodded, his heart thumping in his chest. A few memories of his mother, the only ones that he had, taken out of his reach — but this was the only part of Snape that he could give to Draco.

"I want you to know and understand," Draco said, tracing the line of Harry's jaw. "I want you to see that memory. Snape — you may have hated him, but he was a good man. He deserves more than a lonely end and a cold grave."

Harry wanted to kiss Draco again, wanted to smooth the wrinkles away from his forehead with feather-light kisses. There was nothing that he could do to raise the dead — his mother, his father, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, Snape, they were all gone.

Draco stood in front of him, and Harry traced the line of his neck until he found the pulse, Draco's heartbeat strong and steady through his skin.

"I wish I could give it to him," Harry said, and he left the garden without looking at Draco again.

———-

The mist swirled around Harry until he was cold and clammy, shivering although he was not in his body. He had knocked against the rough side of the Pensieve as he fell into the memory, and his fingers were scraped and sore.

He was in the Shrieking Shack, and Draco was sprawled on the floor at his feet. Harry bent and peered at him, his hands passing through Draco's body when he tried to touch him. There was nothing that he could do, and he waited for Draco to move.

Snape appeared, striding out of the shadows. His dark robes swirled around him, and he tossed his mask to the floor. It rang out a clear note when it hit the floor. He knelt next to Draco and shook him, pushing his hair away from his face and pressing his lips closed. He wiped away a trickle of blood from the corner of Draco's mouth.

When he touched Draco, Snape's fingers passed straight through Harry's. Harry shivered, his spine tingling. He hadn't been there — he hadn't saved Draco — he watched Snape heal him, and that was enough.

Snape's black brows drew together in a furrowed line and he frowned as he touched Draco, as he tried spell after spell.

Draco stirred at last, catching Snape's hand before he could try another spell. "Thank you," he said.

"You thoughtless, useless boy," Snape said, holding Draco's fingers in his own. "If you didn't — you will get yourself killed at one of these meetings."

"I will do it," Draco said, rising to his feet. He strode past Snape, his heels tapping a harsh beat on the floor. "I will finish my task."

The memory faded and bled into another, the two wisps intertwined in one silver strand. Harry felt no jerk of dislocation, no whirling disorientation — he took a step and landed next to Draco.

Snape loomed over him, and he reached over to grab Draco's arm. "Give me one of your Sickles."

Draco tried to wrench his arm free, and Snape's fingers pressed deeper into his flesh. Harry took a step toward them, his hand passing through them, and Snape shook Draco. "We'll not take this food without paying for it. We've nowhere else to go, now that you have failed in your task and sent us both fleeing from the wizarding world. Give me a Sickle."

Fumbling in his pocket, Draco found one and flung it at Snape. "They're only Muggles," he said.

"And you're only a boy who has made a serious mistake." Snape melted the Galleon with a spell, leaving a misshapen lump of silver on the counter, and took a packet of cigarettes from behind the counter. He took a sandwich from the cold case and a pack of crisps, handing them to Draco.

"Come," he said, "we'll go to the Dark Lord and you can tell him that you failed in the task he gave you."

The lights in the shop flickered. Snape put his hand on Draco's shoulder, guiding him to the door.

Draco broke open the plastic seal on the sandwich and offered half of it to Snape. Harry drifted after them, almost close enough to smell the bread and cheese. Draco's stomach rumbled, and Snape shook his head. "Eat," he said. "You'll need all your strength for this evening."

He snapped his fingers and lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag on it. "I promised your mother and aunt that I would protect you," he said. "I intend to keep that promise."

He kept his free hand on Draco's shoulder as they walked out of the shop. The bell on the door chimed, and Harry watched Snape and Draco fade into the mist, the memory dissolving around him.

———-

Draco took Harry to Snape's grave again on the anniversary of his death.

There were ceremonies all over the wizarding world, galas with champagne and empty bubbles. Spells and finery, glitz and glam — Ginny had gone to one of them wearing fine new robes. Harry had given her a kiss on the cheek, careful not to smudge her glamour spells, and wished her well.

He had no taste for parties, no desire to see and be seen, no interest in idle chitchat. It was the anniversary of his own death as well as Snape's. Harry had lived again, but no one else had that chance.

"My mother and father didn't want me to do this," Draco said, standing next to the headstone. One of his hands was on the marble and the other was in his pocket — Harry took it, folding it over a kiss pressed into the palm. "They think that I've dishonored the family name, but ... the only honor left for us is the way we right the wrongs that we've done. There's so much —"

He coughed, clearing his throat, and then pulled his hand out of Harry's grip. "He saved me," Draco said. "I couldn't have done it, but he — a hundred times over that year, he saved me, and I never thanked him for it."

"I never thanked him either." Harry's hands were empty, and he shoved them in his pockets. He had never wanted to touch Ginny like this — he had never lived like this.

"I had a chance to talk to Dumbledore ... you know, _there_ , but I never had a chance to say goodbye to Snape or thank him for everything that he did during that last year."

It was only a grave. It was only marble and grass and a coffin buried deep in the earth. Snape's remains were there, but nothing of the man remained. His courage and vitriol, his love for Harry's mum and his determination to protect Draco — it was all gone.

Harry pulled Draco away, taking him by the elbow and Apparating both of them back to Grimmauld Place.

He took them to the spare bedroom, locking the door and warding it. Before he finished saying the spell, Draco took his hands, kissing each finger. "You could save him — with these hands, you could have —"

Harry kissed Draco on the lips, holding him close. "I can't," he said, and "you didn't — it wasn't your fault." They said nothing more, but only fell into each other's arms, touching and kissing and soothing old hurts.

———-

It was a secret that he kept from Ginny — Draco and the time that they spent in the spare bedroom. She spoke to him in codes that he didn't understand, she was petty and soft, she was not bound to him the way that Draco was. She wouldn't have understood.

Harry kissed Draco on the cheek, kissed his jaw and his chin and his nose before coming at last to kiss his mouth. Draco yielded at once to him, his lips parted and his hands stroking Harry's back.

Casting a quick silencing spell, Harry pulled Draco to the bed.

There was nothing here but the two of them — no vow and no masters, only Harry and Draco and the smooth slide of skin against skin, the softness of lips pressed together in kisses and the hardness of cocks rubbing together as they moved. There was nothing except what they needed.

Harry kept Draco in his arms. It was the only place that he could keep Draco — here, in this bedroom, with the light filtered by blue curtains and the sheets pressing wrinkles into their skin. Draco's cheek was creased from the pillow and Harry pressed a kiss to the red mark.

"Mine," he whispered in Draco's ear when he had fallen asleep. It was a secret — it was nothing that could be spoken outside of this room — but they were bound together by the vow and they belonged to each other.

———-

Ron and Hermione never relented — they both wanted Draco gone, Hermione to protect him and Ron to protect Ginny. They cornered Harry in the kitchen, forcing him to sit at the table and force-feeding him cup after cup of tea.

"He isn't happy here," Hermione said, her teacup clinking as she turned to Harry. On the table, her fingers were laced with Ron's — her ring glinted in the light, and Harry focused on it instead of looking at her.

Ginny had made hints about marriage — speaking in code, she had told him that taxes were due in two months. She'd pushed the forms across the table toward him, the parchment scraping against the wood. The section discussing the tax benefits of marriage had been circled in red ink.

The penalty for having more than one house-elf was circled in Slytherin green.

This had been Dumbledore's last work — shielding Draco from darkness, protecting him from his parents and Voldemort. This was what the vow had given Harry — whatever he failed to do for Snape, he still had Draco to protect.

"Ginny isn't happy either," Ron said. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Harry. "If you're playing with my sister's affections, I'll —"

"I wouldn't do that, Ron." Harry said it with all of the conviction that he had, but it fell flat on his heart. He wouldn't break Ginny's heart — he wouldn't break his bond with Draco.

 _"There was nothing stronger than love,"_ Dumbledore had said. Harry stood up to Ron and Hermione, downing the last of his tea and showing them out the door.

Draco came to him then, his hand curled around Harry's side and his breath warm on Harry's neck. "You promised," he said.

Harry kissed him then — the vow hummed between them, a warm prickle that ran over Harry's skin. He pulled Draco closer and held him. "I promise," he said.

———-

Narcissa said very little, but it was enough. She came to Grimmauld Place, dressed like an ice queen in white and silver, and she bounced Teddy on her hip.

"Andromeda was sick." She handed Teddy to Harry when he stretched out his arms, and he was a solid, warm weight in Harry's arms. He bounced Teddy, tickling him under the chin to make him smile.

"None of that. You owe me, Harry Potter." She stretched out her hand, using one finger to tilt his chin up, and she stared him down. "I saved your life, and you owe me a debt. Release my son from his ridiculous vow so that he may do his duty to the family and marry."

Teddy grabbed at Harry's hair, his chubby fingers pulling hard on the tangles and wind-blown locks. It hurt, but Harry stared Narcissa down and did not flinch. "I can't —"

"You must. Draco will have children and continue the family name. Release him at once, and your debt to me is gone."

Harry shifted Teddy to his other hip, bouncing him to keep him quiet. "I won't do it," he said, watching Narcissa's lips purse together into a thin line. Her cheeks paled, and Harry raised his hand. "What he asks of me is wrong, Mrs. Malfoy. I can't use Dark magic, and I won't. I'm sorry that he's bound to me, but he's ..."

He stopped before he could say that Draco was free to marry. The words were caught in his throat and he swallowed hard. He owed a life debt to Narcissa.

She took Teddy from him, holding him in the cradle of her arms when he squirmed. "You needn't fulfill your half of the vow," she said. "I don't know what Draco has told you about that ridiculous old custom, but the bond is easy enough to break. I'll owl you the book with the necessary spell."

Narcissa left then. The afternoon light streaming through the high windows caught her hair just the right way, and from behind, she looked like Draco. Harry closed his eyes and didn't watch her go.

———-

The spine on the book was creased, and it fell open to the right page as soon as Harry touched it. He traced the words with his finger, and shivered. A draft came through the open door, and he heard footsteps.

Draco stood behind him, kneading his shoulders. "What does Master require?"

Harry showed him the page, and Draco said nothing. His fingers faltered and lay still on Harry's shoulders, grasping him tightly. "You weren't going to tell me," Harry said, turning to face Draco. "You know all along that there was a way for me to get out of this vow, and you weren't going to tell me. You said that there were no loopholes."

Draco sneered, the unfamiliar expression curling his lips. It reminded Harry of Hogwarts — it made him want to punch Draco. He clenched his hands into fists.

"Of course not," Draco said. "I wasn't about to give up the only advantage I had. There was no other chance to convince you —"

"I wouldn't have done it anyway." Harry closed the book, stroking the crease on the spine, and he rose to stand in front of Draco. "You must have realized that by now."

Draco's face twisted. He moved suddenly, shoving Harry against the wall. His hands were hard on Harry's shoulders and he leaned in close enough to kiss him.

"And now you're going to discard me as though I were a piece of rubbish? Are you going to pretend that none of this ever happened? Are you going to tell me that I never mattered to you?"

He shook Harry hard. Harry didn't resist him — he let himself go limp in Draco's grasp, he let Draco thrust him against the wall, taking his mouth in a hard kiss.

"You'll never forget me." Draco's teeth rasped against Harry's skin and he bit hard enough to bruise, marking Harry's neck. "You can stand there at the altar and take your vows with the Weaselette, but I'll be in your mind the entire time. You'll never forget me."

Draco didn't know that Narcissa had forced Harry's hand, calling on the old life debt. It had been years since he had bound himself to Harry, and Harry still kept secrets from him. He had kept his promise to Draco, but now it was time for him to make good on his promise to Ginny and his debt to Narcissa. Harry didn't resist when Draco pushed him against the wall, when Draco marked his skin with teeth and nails. Marked or unmarked, he would never forget.

Draco kissed Harry again, grinding against him, and Harry was hard and aching, needing more. A fumble in the attic, a quick grope, a few stolen rendezvous — it had never been enough, and if Harry couldn't keep Draco, he would still have him again.

Draco started to pull away, but Harry grasped his wrists and held him fast. "No," he said. "You're right — I'll never forget. I promise."

He kissed Draco then, and it wasn't the angry kiss that Draco had given him. It was soft, their lips barely brushing together — Harry feathered his lips over Draco's face, kissing his forehead, his temples, his cheekbones, his chin. He kissed every inch of bare skin, and then held his lips a breath away from Draco's, poised for another kiss.

"Come to bed with me."

———-

It was a mistake — it had to be. Harry loved Ginny. He did.

The fact that he thought of Draco when he was in her arms, the way that he imagined Draco's smooth fingers on his back instead of Ginny's nails raking his skin, the fact that he saw Draco's face when he came, it ... it meant nothing.

Ginny had told him, her face glowing golden in the firelight. She'd pushed away the glass of wine that he poured for her, and she told him that he was going to be a father, that it was going to be a boy, that they were going to name their son James for the man who had given Harry to her. Harry had thought of Draco when she said it — the man who had given Harry to her, the man who had released his claim on Harry.

Harry had his memories, all of the time that he'd had with Draco, and it would have to be enough.

He watched Molly pace in front of the fireplace and he remembered the way that she'd turned her anger on Bellatrix at the end. She turned to face Harry then, her lips pressed in a thin line.

"You will marry my daughter. You'll make an honorable woman out of her." Molly marched around the hearth and stood in front of Harry, her hands on her hips. "You've led her on all these years, and there's an end to it."

Harry raised his hands. "I didn't —"

"No excuses. You'll marry her and make me a grandmother." She brushed his hands aside and called for his house-elf. "Tea for two, and a splash of Firewhisky in Harry's," she told Kreacher. "He's had quite the shock."

He popped out of the room without looking to Harry for confirmation. The teacups clinked together when he returned, and Harry's hand closed too hard around his cup. The last person to fix a cup of tea for him had been Draco.

He didn't look at Molly — he took a gulp of the tea, refusing to wince when the whisky burned his throat, and he nodded.

Like strong whisky turned into sweet wine, Harry went from Draco to Ginny. Hard muscles, smooth fingers — sharp nails and round curves, there was no comparing the two of them. He blinked the image of Draco from his mind, closing his eyes.

Snape had taught him Occlumency, all unwitting. None of the lessons that he had taught Harry had come to any good, but the man's life — Harry cloaked his thoughts in memories stolen from Snape. He buried the thought of Draco underneath his memory of Albus in King's Cross, underneath his stolen memory of Snape loving Lily from a distance. If there were secrets to be kept, there was no one better than Snape to teach Harry how to do it.

Snape had taught Draco, and he had given his life, and in the end, Harry could do nothing for him. He could not fulfill his vow to Draco — he could not say goodbye or give Draco a chance to say goodbye. Harry smiled and agreed with Molly, he made promise after promise, and in the end, he ushered her out of Grimmauld Place and was left alone.

In the silence, in the space between two cups of tea laced with whisky, he took out the book and found the spell and severed the vow that bound Draco to him.

———-

Ginny held a bouquet of blue forget-me-nots, and Harry could not forget Draco. His hands were empty, but he took Ginny's hands, and he shook and stumbled his way through the marriage vows. He danced at his wedding, and afterwards, he put his hands on Ginny, cupping the swell of her belly.

He felt her heartbeat, and he had done this to her, and he would never forget Draco.

Grimmauld Place echoed. It felt empty without Draco there, and Harry closed all the windows, warding them against time and weather. He found dust covers for all of the furniture, and he sent Kreacher to Draco as a wedding present.

Day after day, he thought about Draco, he thought about nothing other than Draco, and still he could bear nothing that reminded him of Draco in his new life.

He sent Kreacher away and he rebuilt Godric's Hollow and brought Ginny there — he planted a garden, and if some of Draco's favorite plants had pride of place, Ginny never said a word about it.

———-

Draco was not at the Ministry when Harry appeared to plead the case, and Harry tried to be glad for it. It would be enough to have Kingsley and the Board of Governors there, staring across the table at him as he spoke. Kingsley gave him a faint smile, reminding Harry of his advice. They walked in together, Kingsley's hand on Harry's shoulder, steadying him. It was enough, and Harry didn't look for Draco in all of the lifts and corridors in the Ministry.

Hermione had been brought in as a legal advisor, and she carried a pile of scrolls with her, levitating it through the air. The scrolls were bundled together in a neat pyramid, and it fluttered a little as she settled it onto the table in front of her.

"The fact of the matter is," Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "Severus Snape was never given a fair trial. He was convicted as a Death Eater _in absentia_ by public opinion and he continued to be judged so after his death. However, he was an undercover spy for the Order of the Phoenix and acted under the direction of Albus Dumbledore himself."

He paused, scanning the faces of the witches and wizards. They were impassive, and there was no sound other than the scratching noises that Hermione made with her quill. Harry took a deep breath. "At great personal risk to himself, Snape gathered information that was vital to the war effort. He made it possible for me to find the Sword of Gryffindor, and he gave me the knowledge needed to defeat Voldemort at the very end. He deserves to be recognized for his bravery and his contributions to the war."

Hermione brushed the tip of her quill against her chin, looking straight at Harry while she fidgeted. "What are you proposing, exactly?"

"An Order of Merlin, First Class, and a portrait to be hung in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts."

Kingsley steepled his fingers together, looking at Harry with both eyebrows raised. "That would be quite expensive, Mr. Potter. While the Ministry is prepared to recognize your point, the amount of money needed to make a gesture of this sort — Snape is dead." He paused, rubbing his temples.

"Snape is dead, and any recognition or award can mean nothing to him now. An exorbitant, useless gesture ... it wouldn't go over well with the public."

Harry raised his chin, meeting Kingsley's gaze full-on. "I'm more than prepared to fund both projects out of my own pocket."

Kingsley put his hands flat on the table and stood. "Well, then. I don't see any reason why not. There can be no question that Snape deserved it." He looked around the table, quelling the protests of the Board of Governors, and then nodded to Harry. "Congratulations, Mr. Potter. Petition granted."

Hermione caught Harry just as he was leaving the room. Her quill brushed his elbow, soft and almost ghost-like, and she grabbed his hand. "Harry, wait."

Her fingers were cold and clammy, and Harry pulled away. "What is it?"

"Is this — are you doing this for Draco?"

She pulled him out of the room and down the corridor, shushing him all the way. There was a small room — barely more than a broom closet — and she pulled him into it, shutting the door and warding it. "You still love him, don't you?"

She tapped Harry's nose with the quill when he didn't answer. The feather tickled, and he sneezed, pushing her away. It wasn't to do with Draco — it was about justice and the respect that Snape deserved. He had saved Harry. He had saved all of them, and he deserved to be honored for it.

"No," Harry said.

Albus would have wanted it. He had trusted Snape — he had always wanted Harry to respect him, and now ... Harry shrugged, brushing past Hermione to lean against the cupboard door, one hand on the doorknob. "No," he said again. "Not that it's relevant, but I did it for Snape and not for Draco. It has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with all of the sacrifices that Snape made for us all."

Hermione released the wards, letting him go. "It's okay," she said, catching Harry by the elbow and holding him back for a second. "I've seen the way that you look at him. It's okay for you to love Draco. Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted you to sacrifice your love for anything, you know."

"I do not love Malfoy."

Shaking her head, Hermione said, "Dumbledore may have been a great teacher, but he wasn't a hermit, you know. He loved Grindelwald, and if he couldn't do anything about it in this life ... I'm sure he would have wanted you to find love and happiness."

A bright memo squeezed its way under the door and flew up, hitting Hermione in the cheek. She grabbed it before it could make a second pass, and released Harry's elbow with a smile. "Congratulations," she told him.

Harry stumbled out of the closet. He watched Hermione hurry off to her next appointment, her pyramid of scrolls floating after her, and he squared his shoulders. Although it was nothing to do with Draco, it had everything to do with Snape. Harry had to make an appointment with a painter.

———-

The portrait was not enough. It had taken two years to finish, brushstroke by brushstroke, and it was all that Harry's money could buy. It moved, it spoke — it had Snape's voice and his likeness, but Harry still had not done enough.

He spoke with McGonagall and arranged for Draco to have time with the portrait. He spoke with the ghosts in the castle — he went down to the dungeons and spoke with the Bloody Baron, asking him to keep the memory of Snape alive at Hogwarts.

Ginny put Harry's hand on the swell of her belly. Her eyes shone and she leaned up for a kiss. Harry gave it to her, and he knew. Life from death, life from sacrifice — he would make Snape live again.

"Albus Severus," he whispered, his lips pressed against Ginny's cheek. "After the two bravest men I ever knew."

Harry's mentor, and Draco's — the two of them would be united, together in this world even as they had been, plotting and working together. Bravery, wisdom, calm counsel, planning and prudence, Harry's son would unite the best of both men, and their names would live on in him.

Ginny smiled and nodded, agreeing with him. Her fingers were laced with his and Harry kissed each fingertip, avoiding the sharp nails. Eyes closed, he did not think of Draco. This was all that he could do, and his children were all that he had to give.

———-

It wasn't fair. Harry hadn't seen Draco for years — had almost managed to forget him, in spite of his promises — and all those years were brushed away in a single moment, with a single look. Draco looked across the train station at him, and Harry's breath caught in his throat, and he remembered it all.

Draco looked older. His hairline was receding, and his dark coat made him look pale and shaken. He nodded at Harry, and with that one motion, Harry knew that Draco _was_ older. They both were. Everything that had happened between them had happened a long time ago, and now —

Draco had been released from his vow. He was no longer bound to serve Harry, and Harry was no longer forced to fulfill an unreasonable request. There was nothing between them now, nothing except a past that neither of them seemed to want.

Harry waved Albus Severus off to the train, and he turned away, following Ginny and Lily. They walked together, Lily bouncing and Ginny swinging their hands high, promising her a scoop of pumpkin ice cream at Florean's before they went home.

Harry stopped just outside of the barrier and leaned back against the brick. In the haze, he could barely see Lily and Ginny. "You two go on," he said, waving at them. "There's something that I want to do first ... I'll meet you at home."

Harry went to Snape's grave alone. It was the first time he had been there in years, and he went there for the first time without Draco accompanying him. It felt strange. For years, he hadn't been accompanied by Draco, and now that he was here, it felt as though Draco was missing.

Harry knelt next to the headstone. He had brought nothing — no words, no flowers, no life. Snape had never had the life that he'd deserved, but there was nothing that Harry could do. He'd had a chance and lost it ... he could have saved Snape as he bled his life out in the Shrieking Shack. Harry could have saved him, and now he had done something for Snape, but it had been too little and it had come too late.

A hand brushed the nape of his neck, pushing away the untidy hair and stroking his bare skin. Draco knelt next to him. Their shoulders bumped together, and their thighs touched. Draco put his hand next to Harry's on the headstone, their hands pale against the dark polished granite.

"Albus Severus," Draco said, brushing his fingers over the back of Harry's hand. He turned to face Harry, taking his face in both hands, and brought their lips together for a light kiss. "It's a lovely memorial to them both. Both of our teachers."

Harry kissed him back, tangling his fingers in Draco's hair. It was smooth to the touch — his lips were soft — after all these years, it was still Draco.

He kissed Draco, making promises with his hands and lips, making vows that did not need to be spoken, and Draco answered his vows with equal ones, binding the two of them together again.

———-


End file.
